


Day 13: Grand Gesture

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “Say yes!” He tosses his arms out to his side and then lets them fall down again. “Say yes, please, for once. I’m not asking you to walk up to Gabriel and tell him you’re in love with a bloody demon, but please be willing to take a chance. . . for me, for us!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 13
Kudos: 100





	Day 13: Grand Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of drabbles, stories, and vignettes for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr. My original intention was for reach piece to be able to be read as a stand-alone, although that's getting more and more challenging as I tie them together. For this one, I suggest you start back at [Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329) to understand what's going on here.
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

Day 13: Grand Gesture

August 10, 2003, Soho, London

Crowley comes into the bookshop via the back entrance, as usual. Aziraphale hears the door open and senses the demon before he can speak. Even without the link between them, he could recognize Crowley just by his footsteps, by the way he closes and locks the door behind him (as if a lock would keep out either a demon or an angel). Aziraphale sits in his chair, coat and vest off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up in a concession to the oppressive heat that has engulfed the city. He had central air installed in the bookshop ages ago, and it does its best to cool the rooms, but it is the hottest year on record. And Gabriel gave him a stern talking to two years ago about using miracles to keep his corporation comfortable.  _ If it’s so bad down there, we can bring you back home for a while. _ The way Gabriel said it made Aziraphale think this was a warning instead of an offer of assistance. 

The blinds are drawn to keep the heat out, the sign on the front of the door flipped to closed. The bookshop is dim, but not very cool. Aziraphale has plugged in a fan that directs air directly at his body. 

“Honey I’m home,” Crowley calls out in a terrible American accent. Aziraphale can hear him rustling a bag in the entranceway. He hopes the wine is still chilled. 

“Did you actually try to pass as an American with that accent?” Aziraphale questions. “You sound like you’re from that movie we watched about the young disabled man who goes to war.” 

Crowley is still fussing with something. Aziraphale hears the squeak of a cork. “That’s good! I was in the South over there. You are talking about Forrest Gump, aren’t you?” Crowley confirms. 

Aziraphale thinks back. “I believe so. The one where he eats a box of chocolates on a bench.”

“Yep, that’s it. I’m doing great then! Tom Hanks is an American.” There’s a small pop sound, and the sound of glasses tinkling. 

Aziraphale huffs. “You didn’t sound American at all! I’m surprised you weren’t arrested on sight.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, angel. The Americans aren’t that paranoid, at least, not yet.” 

Crowley emerges into the back room, carrying two glasses of white wine. He stops in his tracks when he sees Aziraphale. Wine spills over the rim of the glass over his fingers. “Wow,” he says, finally. His voice is soft and low. “We are having a heat wave.” 

Aziraphale ducks his head to hide his discomfort at Crowley’s open compliment. He’s been allowing more and more of these small quips to go by unchallenged. He loves Crowley, and he knows that Crowley loves him. They have human corporations, human desires. It’s not that he isn’t interested in exploring that avenue of the affair as well. And Crowley knows it. Crowley also knows what Heaven and Hell would do to them if either side found out about their . . . relationship. More importantly, Aziraphale is an angel. It is his duty to follow Heaven’s rules-- both the written and unwritten ones. 

But it doesn’t mean he can’t look. As far as he knows they can’t read his mind yet, no matter how much external surveillance Gabriel brags about, so Aziraphale looks. He drinks in the sight of Crowley, with a thirst he didn’t know he possessed. Crowley’s hair is pulled up away from his neck in a short ponytail as a concession to the heat. He’s still wearing his trademark black trousers, but has only a black ribbed sleeveless undershirt on, jacket gone. His glasses are folded and hang on his undershirt. Aziraphale can see a hint of curly hair peeking there. Without the jacket, the exposed long line of his neck makes Crowley look strangely vulnerable. Oh, how he has missed this demon. 

Crowley gives a mock bow, raising his eyebrows at Aziraphale to let him know he’s been caught out looking. Then he comes forward and hands Aziraphale a small glass of white wine. He doesn’t let go when Aziraphale reaches for it, entangling their fingers slightly. “S’good to see you, too, angel.” It’s as close to an emotive greeting as Crowley gets. 

Aziraphale’s heartbeat flutters. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until October,” he says softly. “I’m glad things got wrapped up sooner. It’s been a long summer.” He runs the pad of his finger against Crowley’s knuckle gently, then pulls the glass away, breaking their contact. He clears his throat. “So, what have you brought?”

Crowley motions for him to drink up. “Something that I think you’ll like very much, and something that I hope you might like even more.” 

Aziraphale takes a sip, then sighs in satisfaction. “Oh, ice wine. Lovely.”

Crowley is watching him very carefully. “The ice wines in Ontario are phenomenal. I spent some time up North in the states, too. Hopped across the border to Canada.”

“Business or pleasure?” Aziraphale asks. He takes another sip of the lovely sweet chilled wine. 

“Bit of both,” Crowley says. He takes a sip of his own glass of wine and perches against the desk next to Aziraphale. “I had a few minor temptations to perform, and I had heard there’s wonderful wineries up there, so I took a drive, looking for something good to bring back for you.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s really lovely country up there, not a lot of people, lots of small little wineries, free tastings.” 

“It sounds delightful,” Aziraphale says, a soft smile on his face. 

“Come back with me.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Back where?”

“To the States. Well, specifically New York State.” 

“Did something go wrong?” Aziraphale sets his wine down and leans towards Crowley. “Something go wrong with the temptation?”

Crowley tosses his head. “No, angel, that’s not-”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen as the implications sink in. “Do you want to  _ move _ there?” he asks, shocked. “To America?”

“What?” Crowley asks, looking confused. “No, no, I don’t want to move to bloody America. Angel, what I’m asking. . .” He pauses, looks at Aziraphale and then goes down on his knees before him. He puts an elbow on Aziraphale’s knee, looking up at him. Aziraphale is very aware of the proximity of their bodies and the intimacy of this act. His breath comes faster. “What I’m asking is . . . if you’ll come on holiday with me.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale says. “Now?” he says. 

Crowley nods. “Now. I’ve got one last job to do, it’ll be very quick, and then we can just . . . enjoy the scenery.” 

“Together?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley rolls his eyes. “I asked you to come on holiday with me, yes, I meant together. You and I. A cottage by the lake. Lots of pretty tree-lined roads and all the wine we can drink.” 

“A cottage.” Aziraphale’s imagination swells with the romance of it. He can picture a small cottage, just a few rooms. Cool breezes from a beautiful lake. Surrounded by trees and birds. Fresh air. He thinks about sitting on a porch swing at twilight with Crowley, drinking wine and laughing. It’s a beautiful, wonderful time. Crowley will set his wine glass down, twine his hands in Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale will lean into him and their shoulders will brush. Their heads lean towards each other-- 

While Aziraphale has been dreaming, Crowley has been talking. “Most of the places have all these little jams and jellies and such for you to try with the wine. It’s farm country around there, so a lot of it is homemade. You’ll love it. And antique shops. Loads of places with snuffboxes and old books. You might find some real treasures.” He’s looking up at Aziraphale expectantly. His elbow feels warm on Aziraphale’s knee. He smiles broadly and Aziraphale feels his heart clench. The demon is getting very excited now. He’s practically vibrating with the excitement of his plan. “We could stay for a month or two, just into the fall, before it gets cold. The apples will be ripening, the trees turning colors. I saw pictures in a brochure-”

“Crowley, I don’t think I can.”

Crowley stops dead. His face goes slack, the excitement draining away. He presses his lips into a thin line.  “Why.” It’s not a question. Aziraphale is taken aback. 

“Because,” Aziraphale says simply. He raises and lowers his hands. “Because, Crowley, what if . . . what if there's a surprise inspection?”

“Sorry, you just missed it, just happened to be out, doing good miracles.” 

Aziraphale sighs. “You know that’s not how it works. They’ll wonder where I am. I’ll get another warning--” 

“They’re not going to have a surprise inspection so soon again, anyway. You last one was just before I left.” 

“Crowley, be serious. Think of all the miracles I’ll need to perform just to get myself there. All my things are here, I’d need to find someone to look after the shop-”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll do all the miracles for you. Heaven will never know.”

Aziraphale sets his glass of wine down firmly on the desk. He purses his lips, and takes Crowley’s hand in his. “Crowley, you know how I feel about you, but-” 

“No!” Crowley shouts. He pushes away from Aziraphale, begins pacing back and forth. He runs his hand over his hair, pulls at his ponytail. “No, don’t do this.” 

“Crowley, what do you expect me to say?”

“Say yes!” He tosses his arms out to his side and then lets them fall down again. “Say yes, please, for once. I’m not asking you to walk up to Gabriel and tell him you’re in love with a bloody demon, but please be willing to take a chance. . . for me, for us!” 

Aziraphale goes a little pale at the words  _ in love with a demon. _ He and Crowley have not ever used those words between them. He's not even sure Crowley could say  _ I love you _ without bursting into flames or being dragged back down to Hell for an extreme torture session. “Crowley, I take a chance every time you walk into this bookshop!” 

“Oh come off it, Aziraphale. You told me to go slow, and I’m going slow. I’m going so slow I may as well be going backwards. But you’re . . . you’re never going to be ready, are you?”

Shame burns hot through Aziraphale’s core. He suddenly can’t swallow. He feels like he’s choking. Choking on the truth. “Crowley this. . . this has to stop,” Aziraphale says. His voice wavers on the last word. “This . . . courting.” 

Crowley laughs cruelly. “No one says courting anymore, angel.”

“Regardless,” Aziraphale says. He pushes his feet into the floor, standing taller. The lump in his throat is still there, but he can feel the strength of his conviction now. This is right. This is what he should have done, all those years ago during the War when he realized that Crowley was in love with him. What he should have done the instant he realized who Crowley was back on the wall in the Garden. An angel and a demon. Opposite sides. This was never going to end well. “We can’t see each other like this anymore.”

Crowley has a stricken expression across his face. Aziraphale feels his stomach clench. He thinks he might vomit. “No, no, angel, Aziraphale, look, I’m sorry-“

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No, you’re right. This was never going to work. I’m-- I’m  _ never _ going to be ready for us to be any more to each other than we are now, and this thing this-- us-- it’s  _ never _ going to work.”

Crowley takes a step towards him, putting his hands out in a placating gesture. “No, Aziraphale, please, please listen to me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I pushed, I know you said I go too fast-”

“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who . . . who gave you hope that this could work. That someday everything might . . . might work out. I hoped . . . “ He scowls. “I was a fool.” 

“No,” Crowley says. Aziraphale hears desperation in his voice, sees it in the wide-eyed and shaky way he stands before him. “It’s fine, look, it’s all fine. I’m sorry. I pushed too hard, it was a stupid idea, way too risky. Let’s just-- let’s sit and have a drink-” 

“No.”

“Please-”

“I said no,” Aziraphale shouts, his voice deep and angry. “I won’t have you killed. Not for me, not for this . . . this mistake.” 

Crowley stills, the please dying on his lips. He drops his hands to his sides. Aziraphale feels tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. 

“All right,” Crowley says softly. 

“Please go,” Aziraphale says. He struggles to keep his voice steady. He looks anywhere but at Crowley. He can’t bear to see the hurt written across his features. The tears are already falling by the time he hears Crowley slam the back door. No goodbye. Then he collapses onto the floor and sobs. 

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely positively promise a happy ending at the conclusion of the series. 
> 
> Crowley was trying to take Aziraphale to the [ Finger Lakes Region ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finger_Lakes) of New York State, where there are lovely wineries, antique shops, and cottages by the lakes. Crowley and Aziraphale would probably not drink Red Cat, but it's my favorite (maybe Aziraphale would). 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments!


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